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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26808934">Many Mothers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lithosaurus/pseuds/Lithosaurus'>Lithosaurus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Compilation, F/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, R Plus L Does Not Equal J, Robert's Rebellion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:42:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,886</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26808934</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lithosaurus/pseuds/Lithosaurus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a lot of characters in ASoIaF and nearly as many theories about secret parentage. Here's a collection of what-if’s too short to be their own thing.</p><p>Rather than loading up the tags, here’s a list:<br/>Corra Velaryan, Ashara Dayne, Jyana Reed, Barbrey Dustin, Wylla of Starfall</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Daenerys Waters</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Not since she was a girl and weeping over her parents’ deaths was Corra Velaryan so aware that life was unfair. It did no good to remark upon it but she still wanted to scream. Queen Rhaella- sweet, kind, fragile but so, so, strong Rhaella- was dead in the birthing bed with Corra’s blood on her hands. In her arms sat a weakly wailing girl, a girl who should have been a princess. On her back, a boy that could have been a prince slept quietly.</p><p>Years of torment at her own brother’s hands and now Rhaella died in the birthing bed, hardly strong enough to name Daenerys before departing with the Stranger. Nine months ago, Corra had made a flighty decision and slept with a handsome storm lord. Her son’s birth took hardly more than an hour and Maester Arwyle had managed to deliver him while Rhaella was in the second night of her three day labor. Queen Rhaella had worked so hard to restrain her husband, to protect her good-daughter, and keep the realm whole. She had even ordered the household to flee when the raven came from their spy in King’s Landing. Better for her to face the fury then servants whose only crime was serving the wrong lord. She had weapt when Viserys left for the last time but did so quietly.</p><p>Now, the father of Corra’s son sat on Aerys’ throne and poor Elia was cold and dead with her children. Daenon kicked and fussed a bit on her back and she repositioned her sling so both babes lay in front of her. One black haired and red faced, the other pale as milk with wisps of silvery hair on her head.</p><p>“Perhaps we can appeal to Ser Stannis’s mercy.” Arwyle said. “We have his nephew. Perhaps we can trade him for our lives.”</p><p>Corra looked up from the children. The young Maester’s hands had shook as he brought Daenon and Daenerys into the world. They shook worse now as he began to wrap Rhaella’s cooling corpse in burial shrouds. Corra reflexively gripped her son tighter. A day ago, she would have agreed. The only people who knew of her indiscretion were in this room or half way to Essos by now. Appealing to Stannis’ honor and passing an unwanted child off to his father’s family would allow her to salvage whatever honor she had left. But that was a day ago. She was a mother now. The moment she heard his cries and saw his squalling, dark haired head, she knew she could never give him up.</p><p>Daenerys kicked and resettled herself in the sling. Her eyes were barely open but Corra could see the faint purple behind her lids. Her hair was pale as her own and unmistakably Valyrian. She was beautiful as a princess could be, even with her mother’s blood drying on her skin. But her niece and nephew were already dead. Stannis Baratheon was said to be an honorable man, but so was Robert and he was the one who got a child on her. As she looked down at the children, separated by a few days in age and a world of rank, a dark little plan began to form. It scared her, both in execution and in the idea that she would ever dream it up but she had to protect these two babes.</p><p>“Come, let us go to the tower and see if the Usurper is over the horizon yet.” She stood and announced to Arwyle.</p><p>The Maester looked at her curiously but nodded. She put the two babes down in the cradle that had once just held Daenon. She was loath to let go of them but this would be an act best left unseen, even if the witnesses were children.</p><p>On the watch tower, the wind and rain spun around them but it was no longer strong enough to knock them from their feet. The tempest was fading. Sure enough masts rode the distant swells. Arwyle leaned against the parapets.</p><p>“Maybe we could escape in one of the fishing boats.” He suggested.</p><p>Corra didn’t justify it with an answer. The waves would drown any sailor in seconds, let alone a queen’s handmaiden and a Maestser. She took a step closer to him. Her hands shook as she clenched them into fists at her sides. She had to do this.</p><p>She struck him firmly in the back with two hands. The young man yelped as he slammed against the stone wall. She shoved him again, this time throwing her whole body into the motion. He teetered precariously on the edge for a second that felt like an eternity and then fell. The boy didn’t scream as he plummeted down to the rocks below. She leaned over the edge to check that she really had pushed him. His body sat crumpled against the black stone for only a moment before the crashing waves carried it away.Corra shivered and watched the waves. The Baratheons were coming. She had to prepare for them. The young woman turned away from the sea and walked back towards her children.</p><p>-</p><p>Dragonstone was a dismal black fortress, not at all improved by the waning storm or Stannis’ foul mood. He could still count his ribs and woke from dreams where food vanished off his plate but rather than recovering with his men at Storm’s End he was risking his life plowing through a storm to chase a little boy. The throne had already changed Robert, or maybe it was the war that had given him the throne. Either way, his brother wanted Viserys Targaryan dead and had trusted Stannis to deliver the boy’s head.</p><p>The village that crouched at the foot of the castle held its breath as his men advanced. The gates were left open and not a single guard could be seen on the ramparts but Stannis found no relief in it. The sense of dread grew as his forces searched the deserted castle. Rain lashed the black walls and wind howled through its empty halls. Empty as a tomb, one man had muttered. The last Targaryan heir had escaped. They must have sailed before the storm reached its peak. If he had just taken his chances in the storm...</p><p>“Ser Stannis!” A man called for him. “We found someone.”</p><p>Stannis turned his foul mood on the castle’s last inhabitant. She was a Velaryan, judging by her silver hair and pale eyes. He racked his brain for the name of Rhaella’s handmaids. Corra, was it? If he remembered correctly, Robert had spoken of meeting her in the Vale before all this started.</p><p>Her once fine clothes were stained and dirty, her eyes were wide with fear, and she held a bundle of cloth close to her chest but her chin was held high. With a start, Stannis realized that the cloth was moving. She held a child to her chest.</p><p>“Lord Stannis,” she greeted him with a slight curtsy. “I hear congratulations are in order. Our last correspondence from King’s Landing informed us that your brother is now king. Pity that he married the Lannister woman. He could have had a heir so much earlier.”</p><p>“Where are the Targaryans?” He ignored her overtures of diplomacy.</p><p>“Dead.” She sneered. “Or did you not hear about your brother’s new goodfamily slaughtering children in their own home?”</p><p>“Viserys, woman, and Rhaella!”</p><p>The woman lifted her chin. “Gone. Rhaella died days ago and Viserys escaped before your ships even came into sight. He took his brother with him.” Her lips turned up in a smirk.</p><p>If Stannis could have frowned any deeper he would have. Not one but two legitimate heirs for house Targaryan. Robert would be furious.</p><p>“Where?” He gritted out.</p><p>“Over the sea. The Targaryans have allies yet.”</p><p>“But they didn’t take you, it seems.”</p><p>“No, I stayed with my lady. She died happy to know her children would be safe. Unlike Ellia’s.” She threw Rhaenys and Aegon’s death in his face again.</p><p>“Chain her.” He ordered his men. “And take the child. We will deliver it to house Velaryan as a gesture of good faith and keep her as an assurance of good behavior.”</p><p>Panic showed in her face for just a moment as his men drew closer.</p><p>“Shouldn’t you be more concerned with house Baratheon, Lord Stannis?” She asked in a strained voice.</p><p>“What do you mean?” He asked. He already knew. Robert had spoken rather explicitly about her, after all.</p><p>Corra Velaryan offered the bundle out to him. He approached and glared at its contents. Two small heads lay next to each other. One, had a heavy carpet of black hair, just like Renly when he was born, the other was completely bald but he could see both sets of pale eyes looking back at him. He ground his teeth to keep from swearing.</p><p>“Finish searching the castle.” He said in a low voice. “We’ll board and disembark for King’s Landing by nightfall. She’ll be coming with us.”</p><p>Stannis turned and stormed off. If he had lingered just a moment longer he would have seen the flash of relief and satisfaction on the new mother’s face.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. B+A=J</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ned’s legs ached and his heart pounded in his throat. The slice along his ribs where Lord Commander Hightower had caught him was bleeding freely and hurting like the kick of a horse. Someone was yelling his name but he couldn’t tell if it was Howland or Lyanna. But he had heard Lyanna screaming for his help in the tower. She was <em>here</em>, he knew it!</p><p>After hundreds of leagues travelled from home to the capitol to the sandy hell that was Dorne he had prayed the gods he had left behind that they would be merciful and leave his sister alive. Brandon was dead, father was dead, Benjen was just a boy but he could lead their family if he just knew Lyanna was alive.</p><p>He burst through the final door at the top of the tower with Ice at the ready. The sword shook in his hands from exhaustion and fear. If there had been a halfway competent fighter here he would have been cut down in a heartbeat but there wasn’t. A trembling Dornish woman held a dagger in a clumsy grip and faced him down.</p><p>“Please, mi’lord, please for the love of the gods!” She begged. “Don’t hurt us. They’re only babes.”</p><p>“Who are you?” He demanded.</p><p>“Wylla, mi’lord. I’m a wetnurse. I’m only here to care for the babes. Please don’t hurt us.”</p><p>She stood between him and a bed. There was a small form with dark hair and pale skin stretched out there.</p><p>He shoved past the wetnurse and ran to his sister’s side. Her skin burned with fever. Sweat plastered her hair to her forehead. The whole room stank of blood, unwashed bodies, and a darker, sicklier smell he had come to be familiar with.</p><p>“Ned?” She croaked. She managed to open her eyes. They were cloudy and unfocused.</p><p>“I’m here, Lya. I’m here we can take you home.” He squeezed her hand in his and promised himself that he would take her home. Lya would get better and he would take her home and she would be safe there.</p><p>Her eyes scanned across the room frantically. “Where is…where is Rhaegar? He was here just a moment ago.”</p><p>“He is somewhere he can never hurt you again.” The prince had died on the Trident two months ago. Ned has watched Robert crush the bastard’s chest in.</p><p>“But…” She trailed off as if considering what he meant was too great an effort.</p><p>“He can’t hurt you anymore.” He repeated. “He’s dead and Robert has claimed the throne. The dragons are dead.”</p><p>Even the small ones. Ned’s stomach turned as he remembered Robert’s expression when presented with the body of Elia Martell and her children. Stannis was sailing for Dragonstone. Soon the job would be done, no matter how distasteful.</p><p>“No, he can’t be. He promised that- he promised that the Prince that was Promised would come!” Lyanna struggled to sit up. “Where is my daughter!”</p><p>“She is well, mi’lady.” Wylla appeared at his elbow. “She is sleeping but she is safe and well.”</p><p>He had known that it was a possibility since their disappearance and already accepted what Rhaegar had done to Lyanna. What was one more indignity for his sister? The fever, the blood on the bed clothes, and the wetnurse were undeniable. Along one side of the room was a cradle. Ned knew what he would see as he approached it.</p><p>Two children sat inside. One was Dornish with olive skin and hair the same shade of brown as Wylla. The other couldn’t have been more than a few days old. A tuft of near invisible blonde hair dusted her head and she was swaddled in a red cloth that looked to be a repurposed cloak. Feeling almost possessed, Ned scooped the infant up in his arms. The child stirred slightly and her eyes opened. Lilac purple irises stared out at him.</p><p>“Your king will not like this.” Howland said from behind him. He hadn’t even noticed the crannogman arriving.</p><p>That was stating it mildly. Robert would be furious that Rhaegar had died as quickly as he had. He would rage from the Wall to the Stepstones. He would quite probably demand the death of his niece, the ‘dragonspawn’.</p><p>“Ned?” Lyanna called out to him.</p><p>He returned to her side with the child in his arms. He placed her in his sister’s lap and tired to ignore the wetness welling up around his eyes. Lyanna was crying now, hands shaking as she tried to hold her child.</p><p>“Please, Ned, they’ll kill her. Please don’t let them hurt her. Promise me, Ned. Promise me you’ll keep Visenya safe!”</p><p>He could feel her words pressing in on her. The fear and anguish rolled off of her as if he could feel it himself.</p><p>“I promise, Lya. I’ll make sure Robert never finds her.”</p><p>Lya’s eyes were staring at a point far beyond his face. Her breath was rattling between her chapped lips. She exhaled one more time and…</p><p><em>Promise me, Ned. </em>He heard her beg as if she had spoken aloud. It wasn’t the first time Ned had seen someone die. He had seen an execution by Father’s hand before his tenth nameday. It wasn’t even the first time that Ned had seen someone succumb to injuries but it was the first time he had seen someone die as he held their hands and felt their conscious slip away.</p><p>The Lord of Winterfell crumpled to the ground and sobbed while clutching his dead sister’s hand.</p><p>-</p><p>Starfall perched on its island like a dream. After two weeks of riding through the mountains of Dorne, Ned could almost believe it was a dream. Riding south from King’s Landing had been hard as they expected an ambush around every turn but the journey from the Tower to the Dayne seat was harder. He still feared attack as they rode through the passes but now there was the added fear of losing the children.</p><p>The two babes added their own difficulties. Wylla was an experience mother and Howland seemed to know what he was doing. Ned was the inexperience hand. It was exhausting; waking every night to a fussing child, learning how to change nappies while covering land, and finding food enough to feed all five of them in the harsh mountains just entering summer.</p><p>But now they were here. ‘Home’ to Wylla and the sword that was strapped to the saddle of their pack horse. Lyanna’s burnt bone were also riding on that pack horse. They crossed a floating bridge from the mainland to the closed gate.</p><p>Ned half expected to be riddled with arrows as soon as they announced themselves. Instead, one of the gate guards was sent scurrying to find the lord of Starfall. The gate was raised and they rode through to find Lord Arram Dayne waiting for them. Ned tried to ignore his disappointment over not seeing Ashara at his side.</p><p>“Lord Stark,” he greeted them. “I see my brother’s sword but not my brother.”</p><p>“He fought well.” Ned said. He didn’t know what else to add.</p><p>Arram nodded, as if he understood. They were escorted to the Lord’s Tower sitting in the center of the ancient fortress. Wylla led them to the nursery and put the two children down in waiting cradles There was a third infant there, a boy child with a head full of dark hair.</p><p>“I didn’t know what to name him.” A familiar voice said.</p><p>“Lady Ashara-” Ned started.</p><p>“Lord Stark.”</p><p>She was still beautiful but the year since he had seen her last had worn on her. Her eyes were red and smudged with dark bags. Her hair was loose and tangled. The dress she wore was simple, comfortable and showed that her belly had a roundness that was new.</p><p>“He had a sister. She was born silent.”</p><p>“My lady, I am sorry.”</p><p>“She looked just as much like their father.”</p><p>“Brandon.” It wasn’t a question. The memory of Brandon asking her to dance on his behalf only to disappear with her later that night still stung. And the guilt he felt about that resentment as quick to follow. He knew that they had spent several nights together, he hadn’t realized that she had been pregnant when his brother died.</p><p>“Yes. Am I correct in assuming my son has a cousin?”</p><p>“How did you know-”</p><p>“That Rhaegar was set on having a third child? I heard all of his justifications from Arthur’s mouth. I listened to Elia complain about her husband’s feeble minded delusions. Rhaegar was a fool and he started this war and now- now Elia is…”</p><p>She stopped and wiped at her eyes. Unsure of what else to do, Ned rested a hand on her shoulder.</p><p>“And it worked didn’t it?” She whispered. “Lyanna had a daughter and died for her, just like Arthur.”</p><p>“Lya called her Visenya.”</p><p>“May I see her?”</p><p>Ned carefully scooped up his niece how Wylla had showed him. She opened her eyes and stared up at the point near where his face should be. He handed her to Ashara who cradle the child carefully.</p><p>“What will you do?”</p><p>“I do not know.”</p><p>“You won’t be able to pass her off as your own. She had too much of her father in her.”</p><p>Ned looked down at his niece and knew she was right. Visenya’s hair was a thin fuzz of silverly blonde. Her eyes were lilac and he could half-see something of Rhaegar’s chin in her face. He thought of his promise to Lya and tried to imagine what would come next.</p><p>“Leave the child with me. I can take her somewhere she will be safe.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Leave Visenya with me and take the boy back to Winterfell. Too many have seen you with a babe in arms to forget it now but he looks enough like his father to pass as your son.”</p><p>“Where would she be safe in Westeros? Robert has ordered Viserys’ death and he…did not object to the death of Elia.”</p><p>“Exactly.” Ashara’s voice was strained. He could see a fresh wetness in her eyes. “Elia of Dorne will not be quickly forgotten. I will find safe harbor for her here. If Rhaella survives, I will find a way to reunite her with her kin.”</p><p>Ashara picked up Visenya and undid part of her dress. Ned flushed and looked away. As Visenya nursed, he realized that it made a sort of sense.</p><p>“You will keep her safe, you promise?”</p><p>“On my honor as a Dayne. I swear by our guiding star and the promise of morning. Will you keep my son safe?”</p><p>“On my honor as a Stark. I swear by Ice and Fire.”</p><p>He picked up the boy from his cradle. His grey eyes couldn’t focus much better than Visenya’s but Ned hoped that that boy could see him.</p><p>“What will you call him?” Ashara asked.</p><p>“Jon,” Ned decided. “For the man who is my father by act if not by blood.”</p><p>“Fitting. What do you think of Daenerys? She was the Targaryen princess of Dorne, the one who brought peace with her.”</p><p>“I think it’s a good thing to hope for.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Muddied Snow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was lucky to have a child born in spring, Jyanna reminded herself. To bear new life while the gods blessed them with spring was a great honor. It felt blasphemous to ask for more but she begged the gods that her child would be a healthy boy.</p><p>It had been months since Howland had led their people to war and longer since she had heard news of her husband. She half suspected that her child was conceived on the night of their departure. When the forces returned, Roland Greengood had been the one to lead their warriors home. He had brought word that Howland remained by Lord Stark’s side to hunt for their missing Lady Lyanna. There was no word sent since. Every time a messenger or traveler reached Greywater Watch, Jyanna held her breath but none brought word of her husband. Every day that passed she suspected the worst. If he was dead she would need a son to carry on House Reed.</p><p>When her labor came, she offered a last prayer and set herself to the task of bringing her child into the world. The midwife called it a mild birth. Jyana called it the most painful experience of her life. She was near delirious from pain and exhaustion when they placed her daughter in her lap.</p><p>She was a little pink thing without a single hair on her head. Jyana stared down at the infant. A girl child born with all ten fingers and healthy lungs. The gods had blessed her with a baby in spring. They were watching out for her and in that moment she knew with all certainty that they would send Howland home safe.</p><p>He returned within the week. Jyana ran out of the longhouse when the call of ‘travelers’ echoed through the Watch. Howland was barely though the gate when she leapt into his arms. He caught her, because he always caught her, and they held each other tight.</p><p>“I prayed for your return.” She whispered into his hair. It had grown much longer since they had seen each other last.</p><p>“I prayed to return.” He said with a smile.</p><p>Motion behind him caught her eye. Two of the perimeter scouts were entering leading a dark skinned woman on a donkey. There was an unmistakable bundle tied to her chest.</p><p>“This is Wylla,” Howland explained when he traced her gaze. “She is a wet nurse who came with me from Dorne.”</p><p>“All the way from Dorne? She must be important.” She said icily.</p><p>“Yes. It is a matter we must discuss in private.”</p><p>Private meant the closed off end of the longhouse reserved for Lord Reed and his family. Jyana took a petty sort of pleasure watching Wylla look uncertainly about their home. The stone homes of Dorne would be a far cry from their home. Howland adapted quicker but he froze when his eyes found the cradle near the bed.</p><p>“This is Meera. Your daughter.” She carefully moved the sleeping infant into her husband’s lap.</p><p>“She’s beautiful.” He murmured. He cradled their child into his arms. The love and vulnerability in his face stole some of the anger from Jyana’s suspicions.</p><p>As if on cue, another babe began to cry. Meera began to fuss and Jyana took her back. Wylla shifted and Howland helped her remove the child from what Jyana had first assumed to be a pack on her back. He bounced the Dornish child in his lap until it soothed somewhat.</p><p>“This is Ollivar Sand.” He explained. The child was several months old, far too old to be his.</p><p>“And that,” he nodded to the child asleep in Wylla’s lap. “Is Jon Snow.”</p><p>Jyana drew closer and looked down at the boy. He was young, not more than a month or two old, with bleary grey eyes. His skin was as pale as most others born in the North and his hair was dark with one telling patch of silver growing in a tuft from behind his ear.</p><p>“You found Lyanna Stark, didn’t you?”</p><p>It was the explanation that made sense. He had journeyed south with Lord Stark to recover the lady disgraced by the silver haired prince. Grey eyes, dark hair, and one streak of silver. Besides, she should never had suspected her husband of dallying beyond her bed.</p><p>“We did. Lady Stark bid us to protect. The King in the South seeks to kill all of the Targaryens, even the children. Lord Stark fears the worse if the boy is discovered.”</p><p>“And he has given us the duty protecting him.”</p><p>“Aye.”</p><p>Jyana looked down at her daughter then back at the bastard boy in the arms of the dornish wetnurse.</p><p>“We are Reeds. We will do our duty to the Starks in Winterfell. What will you say of his parents?”</p><p>-</p><p>Alebelly led three guests into the feast hall. He cleared his throat and bellow over the clamor,</p><p>“Lady Meera of House Reed with her brother Jojen and their cousin Jon of House Glenn, all of Greywater Watch.”</p><p>Bran half-listened to the chatter at the high table as they approached. The youngest of them seemed to be unarmed and wearing clothes that we as green as his eyes from his woolen hood to his leather boots. Meera at first didn’t seem like a girl as she was of such slim build and boyish dress. Her eyes were brown and her brown hair was tied on the back of her head. She carried unusual weapons including a three pointed spear, a knife made of bronze, and a net.</p><p>The boy Jon had to be close to Robb’s age and Bran was struck by just how much he looked like Father. He wore armor made of bronze scales and carried a steel longsword of Southron make. His hair was dark brown aside from a streak of silver behind one of his ears. Almost missed in the smoke and shadows, Bran spotted a forth member of their party. Tiny compared to Summer but larger than the hunting dogs, a dark grey wolf followed in Jon’s footsteps. Whoever these three strangers were, Bran knew he had to learn more about them.</p><p>“My Lords of Stark,” Meera addressed them. The crannogmen proceeded to swear their allegiance to the Starks and Bran managed his way through sounding like a lord enough to welcome them.</p><p>That night, after Hodor had carried him to bed, Bran dreamed another wolf dream. He ran through the godswood with his brother, smelling all the strange scents of the men at play. A rattle of iron bars drew his attention and the two brothers raced to find the intruders.</p><p>Three humans were in the yard; a female and two males, one younger, one older. There was another smell to them. Not of dog, closer to that of a mother who they barely remembered. A wolf was with them. Small, hardly worth the trouble of growling at.</p><p>“Here they come. Did you know they would be so big.” Said the female.</p><p>“They’ll get bigger. Much bigger than Shadow.”</p><p><em>Shadow</em>. That was the small wolf. It crept forward with its tail tucked between its legs. It was male, an adult yet so small. The older male human came with it and stretched out his hand. Summer sniffed and smelled something familiar like ice and the damp earth of the forest. There was something else too, something harsh as smoke and as ferocious as burning wood.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Barrow Hall Bastard</h2></a>
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    <p>Barbrey rode out as soon as they received word that men were riding for Barrowton. The messenger claimed that it was her husband and Eddard Stark but she had to see for herself. She flew over the hills with her long hair streaming behind her like a horse’s tail. The guards that followed struggled to keep up. She was a Ryswell by birth and astride her favorite red gelding. Not even the wind could catch her.</p><p>She crested the hill over the Barrow Road and spotted three riders. They were too distant to make out clearly. She didn’t need to. She knew the horse. That golden mare had been a personal choice for her dowry. She spurred her steed on again.</p><p>To his credit, Willam recognized her as well. Love had never factored into her match but he respected her more than many husbands. Far, far more than Brandon had. As she reined in alongside them with the Dustin men falling in behind, Ser Willam even seemed to smile genuinely.</p><p>“Lady Dustin, it pleases me to see you again.” Eddard Stark greeted her.</p><p>“As it pleases me.” She replied. “The North welcomes its Warden home with open arms. Barrow Hall would be honored to host you as long as you wish.”</p><p>It was a long journey from the Stormlands to the North and they would be weary. The third rider in particular seemed tired. She was a thin, tanned woman who watched the men at arms with wide eyes. As she approached, Lord Stark had passed her a bundle that he had been carrying close to his chest. The woman now cradled to with similar carefulness. If it was what Barbrey thought it was, she must be very tired indeed.</p><p>“Not too long, I am afraid. Winterfell had suffered my absence long enough.”</p><p>“Of course. Preparations were started as soon as we received word of your travel. We will have provisions ready by tomorrow for you to continue on. I must ask, are there any special requirements we can provide?”</p><p>She kept her eyes on Lord Stark but Willam’s gaze flicked to the woman.</p><p>“Yes. We have a babe with us. A nursery and wetnurse would be appreciated.”</p><p>Barbrey bowed her head and ordered one of the men at arms back to the castle. She rode the rest of the way to Barrow Hall beside her husband. The roads were dry and broad enough for them to ride three abreast with any other travelers moving off to the side. Lord Stark asked her polite questions, Willam more specific ones, and she answered them without betraying too much of her own curiosity.</p><p>The babe and the woman were nearly silent. She heard a small amount of fussing and cooing. She itched to ask who this woman was and why it was necessary to bring a babe so far north. There had been no word of hostages exchanged or marriages arranged. Fostering could come at any age but a babe in arms would have more love for his host than true family</p><p>No, more likely it was a bastard. Willam might be a respectful man but he was still a man. She could easily see him slipping into some woman’s bed in the south. Lord Eddard seemed a less likely candidate. She had tried just once to ingratiate herself to him after Brandon’s betrothal was announced. He had flushed and then politely turned her down without some much as a wayward glance. But Brandon…</p><p>As they approached the gates, Barbrey made her move. “Do you wish for me to make permanent arrangements for the child, my lord?” She addressed Willam specifically with the right amount of coolness, hopefully.</p><p>“My lady?”</p><p>“I can tolerate a bastard, my husband, but let me know what its lot in life will be. I wish to know where my children will stand.”</p><p>“Lady Dustin-” Lord Stark started.</p><p>“No, it is true.” Willam lied. “I was unfaithful to you. It was unbecoming of me but I swear I will not stray again.”</p><p>Barbrey arched her brow. “And the child?”</p><p>“He is my son.” Willam lied. “But he is innocent of my mistakes. He shall remain here.”</p><p>She turned her icy gaze on the woman. She shrank in her saddle.</p><p>“And his wetnurse shall return to her home.” He finished.</p><p>Barbrey nodded and spurred her horse into a trot. She announced their presence to the gate guards with a cheerful smile. Afterall, their liege had returned from the war. It was time for a feast.</p><p>After the dances had finished, the music had been sung, and the food eaten, Barbrey excused herself. Barrow Hall was small but it still had a dedicated nursery. She found herself there, staring down at the new resident. Jon Snow, they had called him. Two toddlers, children of a man-at-arms and one of the cooks were asleep in their cribs but the boy fussed. The wetnurse, Wylla, was nowhere to be seen. She stared down at the child.</p><p>“Do you know who you are?” She whispered to him. He kicked his chubby legs and grumbled. She offered him a finger and he pinched it his small hand.</p><p>“I didn’t expect to see you here.” Willam said. He closed the door behind him and joined her at the crib.</p><p>“Did anyone see you come here? Is there anyone in the hallway.”</p><p>“Do you wish to berate me without prying ears.” He joked weakly.</p><p>“If I was displeased with you, you would know it.”</p><p>“You’re…not unhappy?”</p><p>“Of course not.” Barbrey scoffed.  “I know who the boy’s actual father is.”</p><p>Willam blanched. “You do?”</p><p>“Brandon Stark. Shy Ned would never father a bastard yet treats the boy like his own blood. I saw him acting the nursemaid as you rode. You spoke to protect your liege and his true-born son, I cannot resent that.”</p><p>“Then why lie? Why give Lord Stark an excuse rather than claim the bastard as his own?”</p><p>“Was that the plan? I wonder if his fish-wife would tolerate such a threat to her son’s birthright?” She mused. “We all know the boy is Brandon’s. I will take a slight on my dignity to protect my liege’s family before it even begins. And I hope that Lord Stark remembers that when it is time for his son to marry.”</p><p>Willam nodded but he still seemed conflicted. Barbrey sighed.</p><p>“This was not how I imagined your return.” She admitted. “Tonight truly is a time of celebration. You are home and safe. The future of the Dustins is one step closer to security.”</p><p>“I very nearly didn’t return.” He said. “It was a close thing. We fought the Kingsguard in the South. Seven to three and only two were left standing. Lord Reed he…I misjudged the crannogman.”</p><p>His eyes were distant. He ran a delicate hand over Jon’s head. The baby quieted but Willam’s hand shook. War, it seemed, had marked her husband. For a moment she pondered the path her life would have taken as a childless widow. It would not merely have been her future that would have suffered. Willam hadn’t been her first choice but perhaps he was the better husband for her. He was kind hearted and treated her gently. He was, in her heart, a far better match than Roose Bolton had been for her sister. She would have missed him dearly had he been the one to die under a Kingsguard blade.</p><p>Barbrey reach out her hand and took Willam’s. He twined their fingers together.</p><p>“You are home and safe.” She repeated. “I thank the gods that they were so kind. Come with me, let me welcome you home fully.”</p><p>They left the bastard boy in his crib. Barbrey fell asleep with his head on her husband’s chest, listening his heart beat.</p><p>-</p><p>Bethany Dustin focused on the reins in front of her and tried not to stew too dramatically. Robb and Jon were riding side by side chatting excitedly. Robb should have been talking to <em>her</em>. She was his betrothed, the future lady of Winterfell, his friend just as much as Jon. Besides, Jon was just a bastard, though Father never let anyone say that around him.</p><p>Father and Mother were riding ahead of the rest of the family, looking as regal as the lord and lady of Barrow Hall should when they arrived at their liege lord’s seat. Behind her, on their ponies, Bryelle, and Rykard were starting another fight. Little Regan and Brynda were too small to come on the journey and she was beginning to wonder if these two were as well. Her younger siblings were could act like such children. She was three and ten, had flowered this year, and was ready to be a real lady. Beth straightened her shoulders and smoothed the frown off her face.</p><p>“Is it scary?” Jon asked.</p><p>“Only if you’re a baby.” Robb laughed.</p><p>“Well then its good I’m a month older than you, Lord Robb.” Jon teased back.</p><p>“Boys…” Mother warned.</p><p>They both mumbled their apologies, Jon’s more solemn than Robb’s. Her half-brother slowed his horse and fell back in the column behind Bryelle and Rykard. They immediately involved him in their bickering. Bethany felt a bit guilty about her jealousy once she caught a glimpse of his face. His frown spoke to his frustration.</p><p>Jon had been having dreams about dark tunnels and tombs. When he spoke to Robb about it, the Stark heir insisted that it sounded like the Winterfell crypts. If it had come from anyone else, Beth would have called them a liar and had told Mother that someone was mocking them. But it wasn’t anyone else, it was Robb.</p><p>Ever since he had started fostering in Barrowhall at the age of ten, Robb and Jon had been inseparable. At first she had resented their friendship. Jon was <em>her </em>brother and he had been <em>her </em>only playmate for years until Bryell was born. Mother had put an end to her little rivalry when she sat her down and, over a rather aggressive bit of hair braiding, informed Beth that Robb Stark could very well be her husband someday and she had best learn to not let a bastard get between her and her husband. Four years later, Mother had been proven right. The whole of the Dustin family was riding for Winterfell to formally recognize her betrothal to Robb.</p><p>“Look, we can see the castle!” Robb called over his shoulder. They had cleared the Winter Town and had a better view. Sure enough, their on the hill was a stout tower.</p><p>“Is that it?” Beth asked. She nudged her horse up to join him.</p><p>“No, that’s just the Winter Town gate.” Robb answered.</p><p>Beth squinted up at the hill and…and out of the mist she realized what she saw. The grey shapes in the clouds weren’t hills but part of a castle. When Robb said Barrow Hall could fit in one of Winterfell’s baileys he was right. The castle was massive.</p><p>“It’s huge.” Beth breathed.</p><p>“And I’ll show you all of it.” He promised. “You should come with Jon and I when we go into the crypts. I can show you all of the Kings of Winter.”</p><p>The idea of secret tunnels large enough for thousands of years of tombs suddenly seemed far more likely. Beth nodded mutely and stuck close to Robb as he described a hundred little details of his home.</p><p>Lord and Lady Stark were there to greet them as they rode through the gate. Four other children, three with Robb’s auburn curls stood in a neat row nearby. It remained neat just long enough for Lord Stark to formally greet them and begin the passing of bread and salt. Beth watched as Father and Lord Stark embraced like brothers. Robb faced a somewhat more exuberant hug from his younger sister and brothers. His siblings rushed in a flurry of hugs and questions.</p><p>The day continued with a rush of people and activity. By the time that they were sat down for the great feast, Bethany felt as if she could sink into her chair at the high table. The grand hall was so big that the rafters were swallowed in shadows. When it was packed with people, the noise pressed into her skull. She made it through the first few courses before Mother ushered her off to bed with a kiss to the forehead.</p><p>It must have been nearly midnight when Jon woke her. She started for a moment before remembering where she was. The strange fire-less warmth of the castle was all the more unnerving in darkness.</p><p>“Come one.” Jon said. “Robb is waiting for us.”</p><p>She quickly pulled on a simple wool dress over her shift and slipped into her boots. They tip-toed out of the tower and down through several hallways to a courtyard. She didn’t know how Jon didn’t get lost but he walked with confidence. Robb was waiting for them with a hooded lantern and his sister.</p><p>“You shouldn’t even be doing this.” She heard Sansa whisper. “If Mother finds out- and you’re bringing <em>him</em>?”</p><p>Robb answered before Bethany could say anything rude to her future good-sister. “He’s my friends, Sansa. Besides, he’s our cousin. His mother was a Flint, like Father’s.”</p><p>“But Grandmother was married.”</p><p>“We’re more likely to get caught if you keep talking.” Said Arya. Bethany had almost missed her, with her dark hair and slim frame sinking into shadow.</p><p>“Exactly, come one.” Robb said. He led them to a part of Winterfell where the towers seemed older, almost beat down. Bethany realized with a shudder that they were entering a graveyard. She pulled her cloak around her and drew closer to Jon.</p><p>Robb cracked the lantern and a beam of light split the air. The mist caught the flickering light and made it seem almost solid. Tucked into a wall was a heavy ironwood door. Arya scampered ahead and pushed it open. A gust of cool air caught at their clothes. Jon gasped softly. Bethany took his hand and squeezed it tightly.</p><p>One by one, the children slipped into the crypt. Robb led with the lantern and Arya at his elbow. Jon followed, staring ahead with wide eyes. Bethany hesitated but Sansa nudged her forward.</p><p>“It’s not that scary, really.” She whispered. “And I’ll be right behind you.”</p><p>The earth swallowed them up and Bethany began to regret her curiosity as they descended the tight spiral stairs. The air was damper down her and eerily still without any wind to stir it. The worst part was how familiar it was. Jon had described his dreams to her enough.</p><p>“What’s down there?” Jon pointed towards a particular tunnel.</p><p>“Those are the newest lords.” Robb answered. “It’s where Grandfather Rickard and Uncle Brandon and Aunt Lyanna are buried.”</p><p>Jon didn’t say anything, just kept walking. His hands were fisted at his sides and his steps were slow, as if he was being dragged forward against his will. Bethany could hear his breath coming faster now.</p><p>Out of the darkness, silhouettes loomed. Each one was a dead Stark with swords in their laps and wolves at their heels. As they drew closer to the end of the line, Jon began to shake.</p><p>“We’re not supposed to be down here.” He whispered.</p><p>“Don’t worry so much. We’re almost to their graves. Come one.” Robb said.</p><p>He pressed ahead and his lantern light fell upon a trio of statues. They were the newest, judging by the lack of moss and lichen. One of them was of a slim girl, the only woman Bethany had yet seen. Jon stepped forward with one of his hands stretched out.</p><p>“Jon, what are-”</p><p>“What are you doing down here!” A voice boomed.</p><p>“Nothing!” Arya yelped. A disgruntled man in guards livery bustled towards them.</p><p>“Nothing looks a whole lot like traipsing about when you should be in bed.”</p><p>“I was showing our guests the castle.” Robb protested.</p><p>“You can show them around in the morning, young master.” The guard grabbed the lantern and motioned them towards the exit.</p><p>“Aw, Jory…” Arya whined.</p><p>“I <em>told </em>you we shouldn’t be down here.”</p><p>The guard bustled them back to their rooms and into bed. Arya managed to wheedle him into not telling their parents by promising extra good behavior. Bethany suspected that he wasn’t going to in the first place and that Mother would find out anyway, somehow.</p><p>She stared up at the canopy of her bed, unable to fall asleep for hours. Sansa had been right; the crypts weren’t all that scary. What had unnerved her was how Jon stared at Lady Lyanna’s stone face as if he had suddenly found answers.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. N+W=J</h2></a>
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    <p>The Red Keep looked too pretty to house terrible things. It shone like a red jewel perched on the hill, watching over King’s Landing like a mother watching her children. Wylla knew that the Keep was no mother and she knew just what terrible things had happened inside. Prince Oberyn was also a pretty sight to behold but he had done terrible things and he would do more if he had his way. She hurried about her tasks for the day and tried to not remember how pretty Princess Elia had been.</p><p>It had been sixteen years since a member of the Dornish royal family had set foot in the Red Keep, sixteen years since the Princess of Dorne had been brutalized but the lion’s dogs, and sixteen years since her son had been stolen from her. It was a long time but not long enough for all wounds to heal. She could see the rage brimming in her prince as she tended to his rooms.</p><p>He lounged in a chair by the window and glared out across the city. She unpacked his fine clothes and hung them in the wardrobe, straightened out the bedsheets and fluffed the pillows, then started sweeping the rushes all while he remained silent.</p><p>“I will be meeting with the Imp today.” He announced.</p><p>“My prince?”</p><p>“Lord Tyrion, the dwarf.” He clarified.</p><p>“Ah. I heard tell that he traveled with the King to Winterfell.”</p><p>“That he did. The late Lady Stark accused him of attempting to kill her son. That is, before the Ironborn burned the boy.”</p><p>“Terrible things, my prince.”</p><p>“Indeed. To lose a child is a <em>terrible </em>thing.”</p><p>She fidgeted nervously. She knew what he was referring to but not what he wanted from her. Oberyn was like a viper, everyone said it, and that meant she always feared a wrong step in his presence.</p><p>“I will need an attendant for out meal.”</p><p>“I am here to serve, my prince.”</p><p>“Here all the way from Starfall.” He mused. “Where you once attended my sister’s dear friend Lady Ashara. You look a deal like her. Yes. May I inquire why you took up service with my house.”</p><p>The question caught her off guard. “I, er- that is, wages in House Martell are better than in Starfall.”</p><p>He cocked his head and raised a brow.</p><p>“I wished to come to King’s Landing.” She admitted. “I requested work after I heard Lord Stark was named King’s Hand. We…I had met the late lord when I was younger.”</p><p>“And wished to meet him again.” Oberyn said.</p><p>She felt herself flush. Everyone in Starfall had known she had acted as wetnurse for Lord Stark’s bastard. The rumors were that late Lady Ashara had been the mother, or her, or a she-wolf from the Red Mountains. She didn’t speak to those rumors, her throat tended to close up when she thought of that bastard.</p><p>“I did, my prince.” Her voice was tight and strained.</p><p>“Then I must apologize that we did not arrive before the King took his head.”</p><p>It hadn’t been Lord Stark she wanted to meet. She had hoped, against her best suspicions, that he had brought that bastard boy to court. She heard tell that the boy looked like Ned in miniature with is long face, dark hair, and grey eyes. If that was the case, he would be beautiful.</p><p>Lord Tyrion seemed a touch nervous when he met Prince Oberyn. The two spoke around their desires and wants like a pair of dogs growling over a bone. She told herself she would screw up her courage and ask him about her son. In the end, it didn’t matter. The gallant prince stood for the Imp in combat and lost his head like her Ned.  Passion and justice and love for your family meant nothing when the gods were cruel and cruel men were strong.</p><p>King Tommen still had need for cooks, same as his father and brother. Wylla stayed in the cruel, pretty castle full of terrible things long after the rest of the Dornish had returned to their home. The pay wasn’t bad and the food was something new. It was reason enough to remain in the stinking city.</p><p>They all needed cooks: King Tommen and Queen Margaery, then Queen Cersei, the Small Counl when the golden queen grew too miserable to pull herself away from a wine cup, Aegon VI who rode into the city on a black horse with nothing of Martell in his face, even when the city shuddered under the wingbeat of dragons and Queen Daenerys burned thousands of men at the gates. Through it all, Wylla made her breads and fried meat and perfected her lemon tarts, all the way to being the head cook in the Red Keep’s kitchens.</p><p>She made those lemon tarts when Queen Daenerys was in a sour mood. Dornish food seemed to please the dragon queen. She was carrying a plate of lemon tarts when she met the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.</p><p>“I don’t think you understand what you are asking, Lord Commander.” The queen sighed.</p><p>“I’m not asking. I’m telling you that Westeros will fall without aid.”</p><p>The coldness in his voice was nearly as terrifying as his defiance. Lord Snow would melt beneath dragon breath. The whole of the Small Council chamber held its breath as Queen Daenerys glared at the black brother. From her position at the door, Wylla could only see the back of his head but his shoulders remained square beneath his cloak.</p><p>The Queen laughed off his comment. “Westeros will fall if I take my forces out of the south. I will not feign strength enough to hold the whole of the realm and fight your apocalypse. Now, I find these talks go better over a full stomach. Do you have a preference? Mistress Wylla knows a wide range of dishes.”</p><p>The queen waved Wylla forward. She placed the tray in front the Lord Commander and queen. It was a rather large gathering of the council. Every seat was filled. She would have to double the number of hens to roast. And Lord Commander Selmy would like to have the coriander left out of- The Lord Commander turned his gaze on her.</p><p>His eyes were like two cold, grey arrow heads. His dark hair was pulled away from long his face. The black beard on his chin was broken by a number of scars that marked his face. It was a cold, mournful, solemn face that swam in her dreams. The plate dropped from her hands and landed on the table, spilling a few of them across the map there.</p><p>Her son was here. There was no doubt in her mind. And she was frozen, staring at him like a lackwit.</p><p>“Mistress Wylla?” The queen stood and laid a hand on her elbow. It snapped her back to reality.</p><p>“My pardon, your grace.” She pulled back and curtsied, with her eyes held low. “I was caught off guard. The kitchen await your requests. I do have a few recipes from the North, if it would please you, my lord.”</p><p>The Lord Commander Snow was staring back at her, slightly intrigued. It was Ser Barristan who broke the moment. He laughed, loud and bawdy and sharp.</p><p>“You were Lady Ashara’s maid, were you not?” He asked.</p><p>“I- I was, your lord.”</p><p>“And you knew Lord Eddard? Quite well?”</p><p>She flushed and stared at her feet. It was an accusation that she thought she had moved past. No one in the Red Keep knew her past. That had been a blessing when Queen Cersei was executing anyone who breathed word of the North.</p><p>Her son rose to his feet and looked down at her. He was so tall and broad in the shoulders, he looked like a knight out the songs. Or he would if his face wasn’t so harsh and his clothes so black.</p><p>“You knew my father?”</p><p>“Aye. That is…”</p><p>He reached out a hand and rested it on her shoulder. His face softened, looked almost hopeful. Her son was here, with an army at his command, and an oath to protect the realm, so like his father that way.</p><p>“My sister Arya says that a Wylla from Starfall was my wetnurse.”</p><p>“I was- was more than that.”</p><p>The tension and hope in his brow broke and he dropped to his knees in front of her, as if he news was too great to bare.”</p><p>“Mother?”</p><p>“I looked for you, for a long time.”</p><p>And for the first time in two decades, Wylla held her babe in her arms.</p>
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